The Darkest Hour
by ladyofbree
Summary: Merry is there to witness the arrival of Sam and Frodo after they are rescued from Mount Doom by the eagles, but what thoughts shall run through his mind when he sees their broken bodies before him?


The Darkest Hour  
  
A stifling wind blew away from the north falling over the vast open field as Merry stood looking away to the great road. So long it seemed since his friends had turned him away, leaving him behind as they went on to battle once more, taking dear Pippin along with their stride. No news had come and only a few stray riders had returned as lifeless bodies still straddled upon mighty steeds that had survived attack of bow and sword. Merry breathed in deeply, his eyes held far into the grey-blue sky awaiting but a sign of victory in the lands beyond. A deep stillness seemed to fill the air as Merry grew weary, his arm aching with the spoils of war. Slowly he drew his hand to his shoulder looking beyond the vale to the distant horizon as a vast dark shadow fell like a mist upon the sky. A bellow then gave way from the ground, rumbling the surface below him as he fell down to his knees. A drumming roar echoed far and wide, shaking earth and stone like small pebbles in a child's hand. Strong hands then fell on Merry's shoulders and he was lifted to his feet, held within the tight embrace of Bergil, his eyes wide with impending fear.  
  
"What has come to pass to cause such turmoil to fall upon these lands?" Bergil questioned his heart racing with a fury unknown. Merry stood silent, his lips failing to find the words to say then a faint smile fell over his face as tears began to fill his eyes.  
  
"The ring bearer has forfilled his quest." Merry said softly, feeling as though a heavy burden had at last been lifted from his chest. The dark shadow away to the north then departed and a hush fell... silence beyond any that one could comprehend. Again the ground began to quake and then a thunderous roar filled the air as Bergil and Merry fell to the ground while red fire spewed up into the northern sky. Merry drew his eyes upwards screaming out his dear cousin's name in vain. Bergil pulled his small body close to his own, drawing back Merry's hands as they reached out grasping the air before him. All the world fell into darkness as Merry closed his eyes, for the mountain had recoiled, spilling forth its venomous poison within. All who stood before the mountain would be lost. There was no escaping the peril that had been unleashed. Still the ground quivered and he felt the hands of his companion tighten around his shoulders, while the cries of the soldiers from the City and the Mark rose up around him in victory, unaware of the price that had been paid to draw away the shadows, unaware of the loss of friend and kin that would soon be at hand.  
  
*******  
  
Hours had come and gone as a deep silence began to fill the vale of Ithilien as many men made their way between the tents, their eyes dull and listless. Tired and weak they all seemed, stripped of their glory and strength through endless battle and clash of swords. The grey mist of shadow had at last fallen from the sky and the glow of fire far along the horizon had faded as all the fury within the mountain was spent. Over the open field dark figures began to form along the distance. Riders came upon horses and soldiers made their way on foot pained with the evils of war, now mere shadows of the strong men they once were before. In the masses of soldiers Merry stood, bent and weary standing with his back to a tree, still growing tall among the ruin and turmoil of the land. His curls of autumn gold hung along his brow, covering a deep scar that had long begun to fade. His eyes shifted slowly upwards, focused upon a growing shadow that loomed high within the sky. Had the dark shadow returned once again? Quickly he drew his hand to his visage, casting away the blinding rays of the mid day sun. Cries rang out and cheers fell among the men of the City and of the Mark while they dashed forth, taking little notice of Merry as he came away from the tree, his eyes large as he stood numb before the fury of soldiers and feet that steadily passed him by.  
  
"The eagles have come!" The cries proclaimed as helms were taken away from darkened faces covered with ash, streaked with crimson blood and open sores from endless battle. Not a word fell from his lips as Merry watched wings unfurl, pounding the sweet scent of Ithilien down upon his face. Mighty talons grasped tightly to lifeless forms which looked to be nothing more than tattered rags. A soft touch then fell upon Merry's shoulder and he took his gaze upwards where his eyes fell upon Bergil standing at his side. A faint tender smile shone on his lips and then his named was shouted and he moved on, giving Merry a gentle squeeze as he went forward with great haste. Little could be seen as a drove of men come forth blocking what view Merry had before him. His heart pounded within his chest while he wrung his hands in anticipation awaiting word about his companions and of Frodo and Sam. Minutes passed slowly seeming as hours since the eagles first arrived. Still a crowd of men gathered before him, shouting and ordering others about. A figure then come forth, steps growing in stride and pace as they drew near to Merry. It was a rider of the Mark, his face long and absent of all expression as he held Sam tightly within his arms. His body lay lifeless, his face darkened with the stain of blood and soot and ash. His lips lay partially opened, his eyes closed and unmoving. His clothes hung from him like rags, his body a far cry from the stout hobbit frame it once held. Merry could feel his eyes growing wet with tears and quickly he looked away awaiting another to cross his path with Frodo in his arms. An eternity seemed to pass and soon a shadow rose from the south, a soldier from the city, his metal armor catching the light of the sun. Across his sturdy arms a frail and lean frame hung, lifeless as Sam and skin darkened just the same. His right arm hung limply swaying to and fro, covered in dried blood, flesh torn and ragged where a finger once lay. His face was pale and grey beneath a layer of ash. His lips dry and cracked, eyes darkened circles, shut tightly holding all which surrounded him away. Merry choked on his tears, his cheeks dampening as he kept his eyes upon his cousin while he was whisked away. A hand fell upon his shoulder once more, and there was Gandalf... his face long and solemn... eyes offering little hope with his deep and silent stare. For a moment they stood saying naught a word and then Merry looked to Gandalf his eyes torn with sadness.  
  
"Gandalf..." Merry whispered, his voice fading. "What word do you have of Pippin? Where is he? Has he not come with?" Silence then fell among all who stood near as Gandalf took in a deep breath, his face growing with despair.  
  
"Has he not returned?" Gandalf said softly as Merry's cheeks became stained with moistened lines of his fallen tears.  
  
"No." He replied faintly. "He has not come since he went with your company days ago." Gandalf's eyes then closed slowly as he turned his face upwards to the blue-grey sky. He searched for but a glimpse of the young hobbit, yet only darkness could be seen where his joyous smile once brightened the days. His eyes then drew to Merry, his face coiled in pain.  
  
"I can not see him." Gandalf replied. "He is beyond my sight."  
  
"What does that mean?" Merry said sternly, his heart falling within his chest. "Gandalf... what do you mean?" It was then that his name was called from afar and Gandalf turned away as Legolas came through the crowd with Gimli at his side. In his arms lay Pippin, his face pale and reddened with streaks of blood that seeped from his nose and corner of his mouth. Not a breath seemed to pass by his lips as Merry pushed his way forward reaching up and taking down Pippin's arm holding his cold still hand tightly within his own. His skin shown brightly, darkened with deep bruises that lay beneath his flesh.  
  
"I found him..." Gimli replied quietly, his eyes filled with pain. "He was caught beneath a troll as it fell in death... no doubt from the blow of his own sword for it still lay clutched in his small hand. I heaved the great carcass off of him but I am afraid we came across the young lad too late. I can find no life within him."  
  
Merry tugged harshly on Pippin's arm calling out his name as Gandalf came forward placing his hand upon Pippin's brow which lay rigid under his palm. Gandalf breathed in deeply closing his eyes whispering softly to himself before drawing his hand away, taking Pippin's hand from Merry's unrelenting grasp.  
  
"There is but a small bit of life still left within this young hobbit." Gandalf said softly. "Go now and take him to the healers... there..." Gandalf said pointing to a large tent nearby. "You shall find Frodo and Sam there as well. Quickly now... go with great haste!" Legolas then made his way through the crowds of men fading from Merry's sight with Pippin in his grasp. Merry then looked to Gandalf, his eyes reddened and swollen with the pain shed from within. Gandalf said nothing as he turned to take leave, his white robes flowing like a sea of mist behind him as he walked away.  
  
*******  
  
Hours seemed to pass as Merry lingered close between two soft beds that were hastily fashioned upon the ground. There amid the covers of one lay Sam and Frodo, side by side, bodies still and unmoving as many hands stirred about cleaning away grime and filth from pale skin, dry and scared from the searing heat with the mountain's scorching flame. Gandalf kept watch as basins of water were taken away, their water stained crimson, with memory of cut and gash cleaned away. The crowd of men had at last begun to depart and now Merry could see Sam closely, his lightened curls darkened now with blood that seeped from a gash upon his brow. His fingers were bruised, his skin peeled away, glistening red in the light of the sun. Cuts ran along the length of his arms, his feet lay dark and cracked, torn open on jagged rock with tracks across the open plains of Mordor. His clothes lay on his frame, loose and ragged. A shadow of the once robust and round hobbit he used to be. And there at his side, a lean and thinning image of Frodo. His clothes were taken away, nothing but thin pieces of cloth hanging by strands of weakened thread, stained with fury unknown in shades of red and grey. A long whip weal ran along his side, a deep round red scar lay high upon his neck, and there on his shoulder a straight lined scar, grey and faded from the Morgul attack. It was the only familiarity of Frodo that Merry could remember since last seeing his dear cousin so many months before. More hands came upon the two hobbits and suddenly Frodo yelled out, his hands growing rigid as he reached out to a foe that was not there.  
  
"No, no you can not have it!" Frodo screamed in vain, his eyes growing stern and heavy behind closed lids. A familiar face then came through the crowd, and there Aragorn stood turning all who were near away. He bid Gandalf to stay and looked to Merry, his eyes offering a new hope that had seemed to falter from each glance that had recently turned his way. Slowly Merry came closer, standing at Gandalf's side as Aragorn fell to his knees at the bedside laying his hand across Frodo's brow. His hands became still, falling to his side while deep breaths fell past his dry lips before they finally slowed. Merry's eyes then drew to the covers where Frodo's hand lay, rough and maimed, still caked with dry blood and dirt. A finger was missing, seemingly torn away, leaving an angered red and swollen chasm upon his hand. Quickly it was cleaned and bandaged in soft linen with great care. Aragorn then drew Frodo's hand between his own, whispering softly as he drew the dressed extremity to his brow, holding it for a brief moment before placing it down upon Frodo's chest. He was still, his breaths grew shallow and his eyes lay closed, a memory of a dark hour finally passed from his restless sleep. Aragorn then turned to Sam. His face grew saddened. Innocence lost and hardships untold were now etched upon Sam's weary face. Merry looked closely to Sam... dark finger bruises lined his neck and wrists. The flesh upon his fingers lay open to the barren dry air of Mordor, turning in color to harsh elements now embedded within his skin. What kind of madness had come to pass at the brink of the gorge within the bowels of the mountain? Merry thought quietly to himself. No words were spoken as Merry watched in despair while Aragorn placed his hands over the deep gash on Sam's brow... one that dwarfed his own scar acquired while in the keep of the Uruk-hai. Sam breathed in deeply, almost as though he was taking his first breath of life as a newborn babe. Merry turned away his heart aching within as he looked to Pippin lying nearby on another soft bed. He was alone, no hands offering him comfort, no one near to wash away the sorrow that had stained his pale skin. Merry brought his hands to his lips, slowly making his way to his dear friend who was now nothing more than a faint remembrance of the hobbit he has seen just days before. As Merry came near he could feel his tears begin to fall warming his cheeks with the pain falling forth from within. Slowly he fell down to his knees, leaning against the soft coverings of the bed as he searched for Pippin's hand buried beneath the coverlets. Merry touched his fingers upon Pippin's skin, pale as linen cloth and cold with impending death. He wrapped his hand around Pippin's fingers and he quickly pulled back for Pippin recoiled with his touch, his eyes wrought with pain behind closed lids. A hand then fell on Merry's shoulder and he looked up into the regal glance of Aragorn, his hair falling down around his face as he brought a tender smile to his lips. Aragorn then knelt along side Merry, drawing Pippin's hand back into Merry's grasp as his own hand fell across Pippin's brow. He spoke in a soft tongue drawing his hand along Pippin's face before bringing it to rest upon his chest. A deep breath then came forth from Pippin's mouth and his eyes opened wide as he breathed in quickly seemingly waking from a horrid dream. He looked to Merry as tears come forth falling along his cheeks and down his arm gently touching Pippin's hand as Merry drew it close to his lips leaving a tender kiss upon his hand. A faint smile shone on Pippin's face and then his eyes closed slowly as he fell into a peaceful slumber once more. Aragorn then stood to his feet and bowed his head to Merry and then to Gandalf before taking leave. Much more healing was to be given and what hope he could offer here had been given. Gandalf lowered his head in silence and Aragorn turned away, fading into the light of the sun as he walked through the glade to touch others in need of his healing hands. Merry's eyes then focused again on Frodo and Sam as they lay quietly nearby. His glance drew to Frodo's hand and then to Sam's neck while Gandalf leaned over them pulling a thin sheet over their frail bodies.  
  
"They will rest now." Gandalf whispered. "Their wounds will be tended to while they sleep, far from the memory of that putrid land." Still Merry's eyes did not pull away and then Gandalf placed Frodo's hand beneath the covers. Merry's eyes then shifted to Gandalf and he sighed deeply not knowing what to say.  
  
"They were not alone my dear Meriadoc." Gandalf spoke softly. "A shadow followed them along the way." Gandalf then turned away, saying nothing more as he left Merry alone with Pippin's hand in his firm embrace while he knelt before his dear friend, lost in silence, with naught but the pain within his heart to accompany him in the stillness that seemed to pass over the land.  
  
*******  
  
The sun soon began to fall along the sky, while Merry still kept vigil at his fallen companion's sides. Thoughts filled his mind of the final moments spent before the vast fires of Mount Doom and the Black Gates. How had the ring been destroyed and what had caused such injury between his dear friends as they lay before him side by side. Had Frodo refused to destroy the burden which wore heavy upon his neck? Did he fight with Sam, teetering upon the edge of death, almost cast himself into the fire as Sam tried to wrestle the ring from his grasp? Was it Frodo who dealt the bruises of an angered grasp around his loyal friend's neck? Was it he who cut Sam's brow in a fury to claim the ring as his own? Merry could feel tears well within his eyes as he drew his hand along his face, trying to pass the images from his mind. What could have drove Frodo and Sam to lash out at each other's throats like savage animals in keep of their last morsel of fallen prey? Perhaps this shadow Gandalf had spoken of. He said they were not alone as they continued on their way. That Gollum creature perhaps, yes that is it, he had a lust for that accursed golden band that could never be driven away. He was the shadow that haunted their every step and eventually led them astray. Was it he who took away Frodo's finger in hopes to take the ring for his very own? What had drawn Frodo to put it on at that very moment when all of Middle Earth needed him to be strong? He then thought of Pippin and the final moments spent in battle before he had been caught beneath that troll slain by his own sword that he had taken down fighting for a dear friend. What thoughts had filled Pippin's mind at that moment when his world grew dark... when he thought he would never see he dear companions again? Merry's skin shuddered and he dried away the fallen tears that had stained his blushed cheeks. A soft whisper then fell upon his ears and he turned to see Pippin, sitting up in his bed with a faint glow of a smile upon his face. Oh how he wished to know how long he been awake, watching as he fell apart at the sight of Frodo and Sam who were now but shadows of their youth, battered bodies drawn away from the fire, yet still pale in the light of the sun as though in coming death. Merry looked to Pippin yet with the awakening of his friend, his heart was still filled with sadness. Pippin tried his best to look strong, looking on to Sam and Frodo with eyes absent of all emotion, not knowing whether to smile or cry. Merry then reached out and touched a hand to Pippin's arm, a simple gesture but great in feeling, just to let him know he was still there. So much had come to pass in such a short time. Battles had been fought, lives lost and others restored, but through it all a light had come and the darkest hour had finally passed this day. 


End file.
